Snulbug

SNULBUG Unknown December 1941 by Anthony Boucher (William Anthony Parker White, 1911-196

"That's a hell of a spell you're using," said the demon, "if I'm the best you can call up." He wasn't much, Bill Hitchens had to admit. He looked lost in the center of that pentacle. basic design was im-pressive enough—snakes for hair, curling tusks, a sharp tipped tail, all works—but he was something under an inch tall. Bill had chanted the words and lit the powder with the highest hopes. Even after the fe flickering flash and the damp fizzling zzzt which had replaced the expected thunder and lightning had still had hopes. He had stared up at the space above the pentacle waiting to be awe-struck he had heard that plaintive little voice from the floor wailing, "Here I am." "Nobody's wasted time and power on a misfit like me for years," the demon went on. "Whe you get the spell?" "Just a little something I whipped up," said Bill modestly. The demon grunted and mutt something about people that thought they were magicians. "But I'm not a magician," Bill explained. "I'm a bio-chemist." The demon shuddered. "I land the damnedest cases," he mourned. "Working for a psychia wasn't bad enough, I should draw a biochemist. Whatever that is." Bill couldn't check his curiosity. "And what did you do for a psychiatrist?" "He showed me to people who were followed by little men and told them I'd chase the little away." The demon pantomimed shooting motions. "And did they go away?" "Sure. Only then the people decided they'd sooner have little men than me. It didn't work good. Nothing ever does," he added woefully. "Yours won't either." Bill sat down and filled his pipe. Calling up demons wasn't so terrifying after all. Something q and homey about it. "Oh, yes it will," he said. "This is foolproof." "That's what they all think. People—" The demon wistfully eyed the match as Bill lit his p "But we might as well get it over with. What do you want?" "I want a laboratory for my embolism experiments. If this method works, it's going to mean th doctor can spot an embolus in the blood stream long before it's dangerous and remove it safely. ex-boss, that screwball old occultist Reuben Choatsby, said it wasn't practical—meaning t wasn't a fortune in it for him—and fired me. Everybody else thinks I'm whacky too, and I can' any backing. So I need ten thousand dollars." "There!" the demon sighed with satisfaction. "I told you it wouldn't work. That's out for They can't start fetching money on demand till three grades higher than me. I told you." "But you don't," Bill insisted, "appreciate all my fiendish subtlety. Look— Say, what is name?" The demon hesitated. "You haven't got another of those things?" "What things?" "Matches." "Sure." "Light me one, please?" Bill tossed the burning match into the center of the penta-cle. The demon scrambled eagerly of the now cold ashes of the powder and dived into the flame, rubbing himself with the brisk v of a man under a needle-shower. "There!" he gasped joyously. "That's more like it." "And now what's your name?"

The demon's face fell again. "My name? You really want to know?" "I've got to call you something." "Oh, no you don't. I'm going home. No money games for me." "But I haven't explained yet what you are to do. What's your name?" "Snulbug." The demon's voice dropped almost too low to be heard. "Snulbug?" Bill laughed. "Uh-huh. I've got a cavity in one tusk, my snakes are falling out, I haven't got enough troubl should be named Snulbug." "All right. Now listen, Snulbug, can you travel into the fu-ture?" "A little. I don't like it much, though. It makes you itch in the memory." "Look, my fine snake-haired friend. It isn't a question of what you like. How would you like t left there in that pentacle with nobody to throw matches at you?" Snulbug shuddered. "I thought Now, you can travel into the fu-ture?" "I said a little." "And," Bill leaned forward and puffed hard at his corncob as he asked the vital question, you bring back material objects?" If the answer was no, all the fine febrile fertility of his spell-ma was useless. And if that was useless, heaven alone knew how the Hitchens Embolus Diagn would ever succeed in ringing down the halls of history, and incidentally saving a few thousand annually. Snulbug seemed more interested in the warm clouds of pipe smoke than in the question. "Su he said. "Within reason I can—" He broke off and stared up piteously. "You don't mean— can't be going to pull that old gag again?" "Look, baby. You do what I tell you and leave the worry-ing to me. You can bring back mat objects?" "Sure. But I warn you—" Bill cut him off short. "Then as soon as I release you from that pentacle, you're to bring tomorrow's newspaper." Snulbug sat down on the burned match and tapped his forehead sorrowfully with his tail tip knew it," he wailed. "I knew it. Three times already this happens to me. I've got limited powers, a runt, I've got a funny name, so I should run foolish errands." "Foolish errands?" Bill rose and began to pace about the bare attic. "Sir, if I may call you th resent such an im-putation. I've spent weeks on this idea. Think of the limitless power in know the future. Think of what could be done with it: swaying the course of empire, dominating mank All I want is to take this stream of unlimited power, turn it into the simple channel of humanita research, and get me $10,000; and you call that a foolish errand!" "That Spaniard," Snulbug moaned. "He was a nice guy, even if his spell was lousy. Had a s comfortable brazier where an imp could keep warm. Fine fellow. And he had to ask to tomorrow's newspaper. I'm warning you—" "I know," said Bill hastily. "I've been over in my mind all the things that can go wrong. And t why I'm laying three conditions on you before you get out of that pentacle. I'm not falling for easy snares." "All right." Snulbug sounded almost resigned. "Let's hear 'em. Not that they'll do any good. " "First: This newspaper must not contain a notice of my own death or of any other disaster would frustrate what I can do with it." "But shucks," Snulbug protested. "I can't guarantee that. If you're slated to die between now tomorrow, what can I do about it? Not that I guess you're important enough to crash the paper."

"Courtesy, Snulbug. Courtesy to your master. But I tell you what: When you go into the fu you'll know then if I'm going to die? Right. Well, if I am, come back and tell me and we'll work other plans. This errand will be off." "People," Snulbug observed, "make such an effort to make trouble for themselves. Go on." "Second: The newspaper must be of this city and in En-glish. I can just imagine you and little friends presenting some dope with the Omsk and Tomsk Daily Vuskutsukt." "We should take so much trouble," said Snulbug. "And third: The newspaper must belong to this space-time continuum, to this spiral of the s universe, to this Wheel of If. However you want to put it. It must be a newspaper of the tomor that I myself shall experience, not of some other, to me hypothetical, tomorrow." "Throw me another match," said Snulbug. "Those three conditions should cover it, I think. There's not a loophole there, and the Hitc Laboratory is guaran-teed." Snulbug grunted. "You'll find out." Bill took a sharp blade and duly cut a line of the pentacle with cold steel. But Snulbug sim dived in and out of the flame of his second match, twitching his tail happily, and seemed not to a rap that the way to freedom was now open. "Come on!" Bill snapped impatiently. "Or I'll take the match away." Snulbug got as far as the opening and hesitated. "Twenty-four hours is a long way." "You can make it." "I don't know. Look." He shook his head, and a micro-scopic dead snake fell to the floor. not at my best. I'm shot to pieces lately, I am. Tap my tail." "Do what?" "Go on. Tap it with your fingernail right there where it joins on." Bill grinned and obeyed. "Nothing happens." "Sure nothing happens. My reflexes are all haywire. I don't know as I can make twentyhours." He brooded, and his snakes curled up into a concentrated clump. "Look. All you wa tomorrow's newspaper, huh? Just tomorrow's, not the edition that'll be out exactly twentyhours from now?" "It's noon now," Bill reflected. "Sure, I guess tomorrow morning's paper'll do." "OK. What's the date today?" "August 21." "Fine. I'll bring you a paper for August 22. Only I'm warning you: It won't do any good. But goes nothing. Good-bye now. Hello again. Here you are." There was a string in Snulbug's h hand, and on the end of the string was a newspaper. "But hey!" Bill protested. "You haven't been gone." "People," said Snulbug feelingly, "are dopes. Why should it take any time out of the present to into the future? I leave this point, I come back to this point. I spent two hours hunt-ing for damned paper, but that doesn't mean two hours of your time here. People—" he snorted. Bill scratched his head. "I guess it's all right. Let's see the paper. And I know: You're warning He turned quickly to the obituaries to check. No Hitchens. "And I wasn't dead in the time you w in?" "No," Snulbug admitted. "Not dead," he added, with the most pessimistic implications possib "What was I, then? Was I" "I had salamander blood," Snulbug complained. "They thought I was an undine like my mo and they put me in the cold-water incubator when any dope knows salamandery is a dominant

I'm a runt and good for nothing but to run errands, and now I should make prophecies! You your paper and see how much good it does you." Bill laid down his pipe and folded the paper back from the obituaries to the front page. He not expected to find anything useful there—what advantage could he gain from knowing who the next naval engagement or which cities were bombed?—but he was scientifically methodical. this time method was rewarded. There it was, streaming across the front page in vast black block MAYOR ASSASSINATED FIFTH COLUMN KILLS CRUSADER

Bill snapped his fingers. This was it. This was his chance. He jammed his pipe in his mo hastily pulled a coat on his shoulders, crammed the priceless paper into a pocket, and started ou the attic. Then he paused and looked around. He'd forgotten Snulbug. Shouldn't there be some of formal discharge? The dismal demon was nowhere in sight. Not in the penta-cle or out of it. Not a sign or a trac him. Bill frowned. This was definitely not methodical. He struck a match and held it over the bow his pipe. A warm sigh of pleasure came from inside the corncob. Bill took the pipe from his mouth and stared at it. "So that's where you are!" he said musingly "I told you salamandry was a dominant," said Snulbug, peering out of the bowl. "I want to along. I want to see just what kind of a fool you make of yourself." He withdrew his head into glowing tobacco, muttering about newspa-pers, spells, and, with a wealth of unhappy scorn, peo

The crusading mayor of Granton was a national figure of splendid proportions. Without hyst red baiting, or strikebreaking, he had launched a quietly purposeful and well-directed prog against subversive elements which had rapidly converted Granton into the safest and most Amer city in the country. He was also a persistent advocate of na-tional, state, and municipal subsid the arts and sciences—the ideal man to wangle an endowment for the Hitchens Laboratory, i were not so surrounded by overly skeptical assistants that Bill had never been able to lay program before him. This would do it. Rescue him from assassination in the very nick of time—in itself an act w calling up demons to perform—and then when he asks, "And how, Mr. Hitchens, can I poss repay you?" come forth with the whole great plan of research. It couldn't miss. No sound came from the pipe bowl, but Bill clearly heard the words, "Couldn't it just?' ringin his mind. He braked his car to a fast stop in the red zone before the city hall, jumped out without e slamming the door, and dashed up the marble steps so rapidly, so purposefully, that momentum carried him up three flights and through four suites of offices before anybody had courage to stop him and say, "What goes?" The man with the courage was a huge bull-necked plain-clothesman, whose bulk made Bill relatively about the size of Snulbug. "All right, there," this hulk rumbled. "All right. Where's fire?" "In an assassin's gun," said Bill. "And it had better stay there." Bullneck had not expected a literal answer. He hesitated long enough for Bill to push him to door marked MAYOR—PRIVATE. But though the husky 's brain might move slowly, his mus made up for the lag. Just as Bill started to shove the door open, a five-pronged mound of flesh li

his neck and jerked. Bill crawled from under a desk, ducked Bullneck's left, reached the door, executed a sec backward flip, climbed down from the table, ducked a right, reached the door, sailed bac reverse, and lowered himself nimbly from the chan-delier. Bullneck took up a stand in front of the door, spread his legs in ready balance, and drew a ser automatic from its holster. "You ain't going in there," he said, to make the situa-tion perfectly cle Bill spat out a tooth, wiped the blood from his eyes, picked up the shattered remains of his p and said, "Look. It's now 12:30. At 12:32 a redheaded hunchback is going to come out on balcony across the street and aim through the open window into the mayor's office. At 12:33 Honor is going to be slumped over his desk, dead. Unless you help me get him out of range." "Yeah?" said Bullneck. "And who says so?" "It says so here. Look. In the paper." Bullneck guffawed. "How can a paper say what ain't even happened yet? You're nuts, brothe you ain't something worse. Now go on. Scram. Go peddle your paper." Bill's glance darted out the window. There was the balcony facing the mayor's office. And t coming out on it-"Look!" he cried. "If you won't believe me, look out the window. See on that balcony? redheaded hunchback? Just like I told you. Quick!" Bullneck stared despite himself. He saw the hunchback peer across into the office. He saw sudden glint of metal in the hunchback's hand. "Brother," he said to Bill, "I'll tend to you later." The hunchback had his rifle halfway to his shoulder when Bullneck's automatic spat and braked his car in the red zone, jumped out, and dashed through four suites of offices be anybody had the courage to stop him. The man with the courage was a huge bull-necked plain-clothesman, who rumbled, "Where's fire?" "In an assassin's gun," said Bill, and took advantage of Bullneck's confusion to reach the d marked MAYOR—PRI-VATE. But just as he started to push it open, a vast hand lit on his n and jerked. As Bill descended from the chandelier after his third try, Bullneck took up a stand in front of door, with straddled legs and drawn gun. "You ain't going in," he said clarify-ingly. Bill spat out a tooth and outlined the situation. "—12:33," he ended. "His Honor is going to slumped over the desk dead. Unless you help me get him out of range. See? It says so here. In paper." "How can it? Gawn. Go peddle your paper." Bill's glance darted to the balcony. "Look, if you won't be-lieve me. See the redhea hunchback? Just like I told you. Quick! We've got to—" Bullneck stared. He saw the sudden glint of metal in the hunchback's hand. "Brother," he s "I'll tend to you later." The hunchback had his rifle halfway to his shoulder when Bullneck's automatic spat and braked his car in the red zone, jumped out, and dashed through four suites before anybody stop him. The man who did was a bull-necked plainclothesman, who rumbled-"Don't you think," said Snulbug, "you've had about enough of this?" Bill agreed mentally, and there he was sitting in his road-ster in front of the city hall. His clo were unrumpled, his eyes were bloodless, his teeth were all there, and his corncob was still in "And just what," he demanded of his pipe bowl, "has been going on?"

Snulbug popped his snaky head out. "Light this again, will you? It's getting cold. Thanks." " What happened?" Bill insisted. "People!" Snulbug moaned. "No sense. Don't you see? So long as the newspaper was in future, it was only a possi-bility. If you'd had, say, a hunch that the mayor was in dan-ger, ma you could have saved him. But when I brought it into now, it became a fact. You can't poss make it un-true." "But how about man's free will? Can't I do whatever I want to do?" "Sure. It was your precious free will that brought the paper into now. You can't undo your will. And, anyway, your will's still free. You're free to go getting thrown around chandeliers as o as you want. You probably like it. You can do anything up to the point where it would cha what's in that paper. Then you have to start in again and again and again until you make up mind to be sensible." "But that—" Bill fumbled for words, "that's just as bad as ... as fate or predestination. If my wills to—" "Newspapers aren't enough. Time theory isn't enough. So I should tell him about his s People—" and Snulbug withdrew into the bowl. Bill looked up at the city hall regretfully and shrugged his resignation. Then he folded his pape the sports page and studied it carefully.

Snulbug thrust his head out again as they stopped in the many-acred parking lot. "Where is it time?" he wanted to know. "Not that it matters." "The racetrack." "Oh—" Snulbug groaned, "I might have known it. You're all alike. No sense in the w caboodle. I suppose you found a long shot?" "Darned tooting I did. Alhazred at twenty to one in the fourth. I've got $500, the only money got left on earth. Plunk on Alhazred's nose it goes, and there's our $10,000. " Snulbug grunted. "I hear his lousy spell, I watch him get caught on a merry-go-round, it enough, I should see him lay a bet on a long shot." "But there isn't a loophole in this. I’m not interfering with the future; I'm just taking advantag it. Alhazred'll win this race whether I bet on him or not. Five pretty hundred-dollar parimutuel tick and behold: The Hitchens Labora-tory!" Bill jumped spryly out of his car and strutted a joyously. Suddenly he paused and addressed his pipe: "Hey! Why do I feel so good?" Snulbug sighed dismally. "Why should anybody? " "No, but I mean: I took a hell of a shellacking from that plug-ugly in the office. And I haven't a pain or an ache." "Of course not. It never happened." "But I felt it then." "Sure. In a future that never was. You changed your mind, didn't you? You decided not to go there?" "O.K., but that was after I'd already been beaten up. " "Uh-uh," said Snublug firmly. "It was be you hadn't been." And he withdrew again into the pipe. There was a band somewhere in the distance and the rau-cous burble of an announcer's vo Crowds clustered around the $2 windows, and the $5 weren't doing bad business. But the $ window, where the five beautiful paste-boards lived that were to create an embolism laboratory, almost deserted. Bill buttonholed a stranger with a purple nose. "What's the next race?" "Second, Mac."

Swell, Bill thought. Lots of time. And from now on—He hastened to the $100 window shoved across the five bills that he had drawn from the bank that morning. "Alhazred, on the no he said. The clerk frowned with surprise, but took the money and turned to get the tickets. Bill buttonholed a stranger with a purple nose. "What's the next race?" "Second, Mac." Swell, Bill thought. And then he yelled, "Hey!" A stranger with a purple nose paused and said, "'Smatter, Mac?" "Nothing," Bill groaned. "Just everything." The stranger hesitated. "Ain't I seen you someplace be-fore?" "No," said Bill hurriedly. "You were going to, but you haven't. I changed my mind." The stranger walked away shaking his head and muttering how the ponies could get a guy. Not till Bill was back in his roadster did he take the corncob from his mouth and glare at it. right!" he barked. "What was wrong this time? Why did I get on a merry-go-round again? I didn' to change the future!" Snulbug popped his head out and yawned a tuskful yawn. "I warn him, I explain it, I warn again, now he wants I should explain it all over." "But what did I do?" "What did he do? You changed the odds, you dope. That much folding money on a long sh a parimutuel track, and the odds change. It wouldn't have paid off at twenty to one, the way it sa the paper." "Nuts," Bill muttered. "And I suppose that applies to anything? If I study the stock market in paper and try to invest my $500 according to tomorrow's market—" "Same thing. The quotations wouldn't be quite the same if you started in playing. I warned You're stuck," said Snulbug. "You're stymied. It's no use." He sounded almost cheerful. "Isn't it?" Bill mused. "Now look, Snulbug. Me, I'm a great believer in Man. This universe doe hold a problem that Man can't eventually solve. And I'm no dumber than the average." "That's saying a lot, that is," Snulbug sneered. "People—" "I've got a responsibility now. It's more than just my $10,000. I've got to redeem the hono Man. You say this is the insoluble problem. I say there is no insoluble problem." "I say you talk a lot." Bill's mind was racing furiously. How can a man take advantage of the future without in smallest way altering that future? There must be an answer somewhere, and a man who devised Hitchens Embolus Diagnosis could certainly crack a little nut like this. Man cannot refus challenge. Unthinking, he reached for his tobacco pouch and tapped out his pipe on the sole of his f There was a microscopic thud as Snulbug crashed onto the floor of the car. Bill looked down half-smiling. The tiny demon's tail was lashing madly, and every separate sn stood on end. "This is too much!" Snulbug screamed. "Dumb gags aren't enough, insults a enough, I should get thrown around like a damned soul. This is the last straw. Give me dismissal!" Bill snapped his fingers gleefully. "Dismissal!" he cried. "I've got it, Snully. We're all set." Snulbug looked up puzzled and slowly let his snakes droop more amicably. "It won't work, said, with an omnis-ciently sad shake of his serpentine head. It was the dashing act again that carried Bill through the Choatsby Laboratories, where he

been employed so re-cently, and on up to the very anteroom of old R. C.'s office. But where you can do battle with a bull-necked guard, there is not a thing you can oppose aga the brisk compe-tence of a young lady who says, "I shall find out if Mr. Choatsby will see y There was nothing to do but wait. "And what's the brilliant idea this time?" Snulbug obvi-ously feared the worst. "R. C.'s nuts," said Bill. "He's an astrologer and a py-ramidologist and a Br Israelite—American Branch Re-formed--and Heaven knows what else. He . . . why, he'll e believe in you." "That's more than I do," said Snulbug. "It's a waste of en-ergy." "He'll buy this paper. He'll pay anything for it. There's nothing he loves more than futzing aro with the occult. He'll never be able to resist a good solid slice of the future, with illusions fortune thrown in." "You better hurry, then." "Why such a rush? It's only 2:30 now. Lots of time. And while the girl's gone there's nothing us to do but cool our heels." "You might at least," said Snulbug, "warm the heel of your pipe." The girl returned at last. "Mr. Choatsby will see you." Reuben Choatsby overflowed the outsize chair behind his desk. His little face, like a baby's h balanced on a giant suet pudding, beamed as Bill entered. "Changed your mind, eh?" His w came in sudden soft blobs, like the abrupt glugs of pouring syrup. "Good. Need you in K-39. L not the same since you left." Bill groped for exactly the right words. "That's not it, R.C. I’m on my own now and I'm doin right." The baby face soured. "Damned cheek. Competitor of mine, eh? What you want now? Waste time?" "Not at all." With a pretty shaky assumption of confi-dence, Bill perched on the edge of the d "R. C.," he said, slowly and impressively, "what would you give for a glimpse into the future?" Mr. Choatsby plugged vigorously. "Ribbing me? Get out of here! Have you thrown out—H on! You're the one—Used to read queer books. Had a grimoire here once." The baby face g earnest. "What d'you mean?" "Just what I said, R. C. What would you give for a glimpse into the future?" Mr. Choatsby hesitated. "How? Time travel? Pyramid? You figured out the King's Chamber?" "Much simpler than that. I have here"—he took it out of his pocket and folded it so that only name and the date line were visible—"tomorrow's newspaper." Mr. Choatsby grabbed. "Let me see." "Uh-uh. Naughty. You'll see after we discuss terms. But there it is." "Trick. Had some printer fake it. Don't believe it." "All right. I never expected you, R. C., to descend to such unenlightened skepticism. But if t all the faith you have—" Bill stuffed the paper back in his pocket and started for the door. "Wait!" Mr. Choatsby lowered his voice. "How'd you do it? Sell your soul?" "That wasn't necessary." "How? Spells? Cantrips? Incantations? Prove it to me. Show me it's real. Then we'll talk terms Bill walked casually to the desk and emptied his pipe into the ash tray. "I'm underdeveloped. I run errands. I'm named Snulbug. It isn't enough—now I should b testimonial!" Mr. Choatsby stared rapt at the furious little demon raging in his ash tray. He watched revere

as Bill held out the pipe for its inmate, filled it with tobacco, and lit it. He lis-tened awestruc Snulbug moaned with delight at the flame. "No more questions," he said. "What terms?" "Fifteen thousand dollars." Bill was ready for bargaining. "Don't put it too high," Snulbug warned. "You better hurry." But Mr. Choatsby had pulled out his checkbook and was scribbling hastily. He blotted the ch and handed it over. "It's a deal." He grabbed up the paper. "You're a fool, young man. Fif thousand! Hmf!" He had it open already at the financial page. "With what I make on the ma tomorrow, never notice $15,000. Pennies." "Hurry up," Snulbug urged. "Good-bye, sir," Bill began politely, "and thank you for—" But Reuben Choatsby wasn't e listening.

"What's all this hurry?" Bill demanded as he reached the elevator. "People!" Snulbug sighed. "Never you mind what's the hurry. You get to your bank and dep that check." So Bill, with Snulbug's incessant prodding, made a dash to the bank worthy of his descent the city hall and on the Choatsby Laboratories. He just made it, by stopwatch frac-tions second. The door was already closing as he shoved his way through at three o'clock sharp. He made his deposit, watched the teller's eyes bug out at the size of the check, and delayed enough to enjoy the incomparable thrill of changing the account from William Hitchens to Hitchens Research Laboratory. Then he climbed once more into his car, where he could talk with his pipe in peace. "Now, asked as he drove home, "what was the rush?" "He'd stop payment." "You mean when he found out about the merry-go-round? But I didn't promise him anythin just sold him tomorrow's paper. I didn't guarantee he'd make a fortune of it." "That's all right. But—" "Sure, you warned me. But where's the hitch? R. C.'s a bandit, but he's honest. He wouldn't payment." "Wouldn't he?" The car was waiting for a stop signal. The newsboy in the intersection was yelling "Uxtruh!" glanced casually at the headline, did a double take, and instantly thrust out a nickel and seiz paper. He turned into a side street, stopped the car, and went through this paper. Front page: MAY ASSASSINATED. Sports page: Alhazred at twenty to one. Obituaries: The same list he'd rea noon. He turned back to the date line. August 22. Tomorrow. "I warned you," Snulbug was explaining. "I told you I wasn't strong enough to go far into future. I'm not a well demon, I'm not. And an itch in the memory is something fierce. I just wen enough ahead to get a paper with tomorrow's date on it. And any dope knows that a Tuesday p comes out Monday afternoon." For a moment Bill was dazed. His magic paper, his fif-teen-thousand-dollar paper, was b hawked by newsies on every corner. Small wonder R. C. might have stopped payment! And the saw the other side. He started to laugh. He couldn't stop. "Look out!" Snulbug shrilled. "You'll drop my pipe. And what's so funny?" Bill wiped tears from his eyes. "I was right. Don't you see, Snulbug? Man can't be licked.

magic was lousy. All it could call up was you. You brought me what was practically a fake, a got caught on the merry-go-round of time trying to use it. You were right enough there; no g could come of that magic. "But without the magic, just using human psychology, knowing a man's weaknesses, playing them, I made a syrup-voiced old bandit endow the very research he'd ta-booed, and do more g for humanity than he's done in all the rest of his life. I was right, Snulbug. You can't lick Man." Snulbug's snakes writhed into knots of scorn. "People!" he snorted. "You'll find out." And shook his head with dismal satisfaction.